


The Game that You Start but You Can’t Win

by myblueworld



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 12:05:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3409943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myblueworld/pseuds/myblueworld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Villa started a game. But he can't win anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Game that You Start but You Can’t Win

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Because the goal celebration in the game against Stoke was one of the most adorable thing ever  
> 2\. I know that it’s nobody’s fault but the City TV’s people and I know they have a logical reason for that, but my selfish side inside of me still can’t accept the fact that the challenge games was between Villa and Sergio instead of Villa and Silva  
> 3\. Pardon the timeline. Am pretty sure that game against Stoke took place before the challenge games between Villa and Agüero

**_[1]_ **

“Agüero?” Villa’s brows knot into one as he frowns. “You mean, Sergio Agüero?”

“Yes, Sergio Agüero,”  the guy sitting in front of him nods.

“But... Why him?”

_Why not Silva?_

“Because both of you are strikers,” the representative from City TV says matter-of-factly. “The best ones in the world,” he quickly adds, as if the compliment can assure that Villa will do it.

_But both Silva and I were World Cup and EURO winners._

_Both of Silva and I were teammates in Valencia._

_Both of Silva and I can create magic together._

“Come on, Villa! It would be great!” the guy tries to convince him as Villa hesitantly rubs his chin. Villa lets out a sigh, and rest his back on the chair. His eyes fly to the big screen TV in the corner of the room,  showing the highlights of yesterday’s match against Stoke.

The camera zoomed in to City’s boys hugging together after Milner’s score. And then Silva was there. With that brilliant bright smile on his face, rubbing his forehead into Milner’s who was looking at Silva as if Silva is the most amazing thing on earth.

Villa feels like there is a heavy weight filling up his stomach. He tries to, but he can’t take his eyes off the screen, that is now showing how Silva is jumping on Nasri who just scored a goal.

“Villa?”

Villa turns his head back to the producer slowly, like a robot.

“So, you’re going to do it?”

Villa blinks. Involuntarily, all the scenes that he just saw replay in his mind.

The way his teammates put their arms around Silva

The way Milner smiled so wide at Silva and tried to reach him using his stupid forehead.

The way Nasri carried Silva when he jumped on Nasri.

The way Silva smiled, so bright, so happy, so blissful.

“Okay,” Villa says, sound as dry as his throat “Okay. I will do it.”

The guy in that black suit with a sky blue tie smiles widely. But Villa’s mind is blank. He can only remember Silva’s smile, so bright among the blurry images of his City teammates.

“Awesome! So, this challenges, we’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Villa repeats dully, “Tomorrow. With Agüero.”

 

 

**_[2]_ **

They’ve talked before, a long long time ago. When he was still in Valencia and Barcelona, and Sergio was still in Atletico. But he can’t remember exactly what they talked about.

Villa has seen Sergio before, though. But in person, Sergio’s smile is ridiculously wide and bright, almost blinding.

“Hello,” Sergio shakes his hand, his smile almost split his face into two. “Hello, very good to have you here.”

Villa nods, can’t help to smile back at him. And he remembers how Leo’s eyes always get softer every time he talked about Sergio.

 _Kun._ Yes, Villa remembers now. That’s how Leo called him _. Kun_.

“Leo talked about you. A lot,” Villa says.

If it is even possible, the smile on Sergio’s face gets even wider, brighter. There is a blissful look is in his eyes when he asked Villa.

“Did he? Really?”

Villa nods. And he wonders, whether Silva also smiled that wide and that bright if someone mentioned Villa’s name. He wonders, whether he has that look in his eyes whenever someone mentioned Silva’s name, and whether anyone ever noticed that.

“Silva also talks about you. A lot.”

Villa’s face is hurting from smiling.

 

**_[3]_ **

Villa glances carefully at Silva, who is eating his porridge calmly in front of him on the kitchen island. The morning sunlight falls on his hair, making it aflame.

“Have you checked City’s site?”

Silva shakes his head, “Nope,” he says, brushing the hair from his eyes. “Anything interesting besides all the transfer rumors?”

“They have that challenge thing of me and Agüero” Villa turns his laptop so Silva can see the page that he’s talking about.

Silva raises his eyebrows for a split second, but then he shrugs and start watching. In front of him, Villa studies his expression cautiously. Looking for any, even the slightest change of expression.

A minute later, Silva turns the laptop back to Villa.

“Nice,” he says, and continues eating his porridge.

Villa waits, but that’s all the comment that he received from Silva.

“Sergio is very nice, you know.”

Silva hums as an answer.

“And…” Villa’s mind races to think of something to say, something that worth a reaction that he has been waiting for. “And… he has this… wide, bright, lovely smile….”

Silva puts his spoon in the bowl.

“He does,” he say, standing up from the stool. He glances at Villa, and there is a vague smirk that barely there, Villa is not really sure that it’s actually there on his lips.

“I’ve seen Kun smiles a lot, you know. More than what you have seen.” He walks to the sink and put the bowl in it. He turns around to look at Villa.

“Oh, I’m going to meet him in the training today. You want me to say hi to him?” he says, brushing his hair again that always seems to perfectly falls like a mess on his head. His eyes have that smug mischievous glint that leaves Villa’s brain freeze.

He says nothing as he watches Silva walks out of the kitchen.

His laptop screen is still showing pictures of him and Sergio, their smiles frozen in pictures.

He thinks of the wide bright infectious smile that Sergio has.

He thinks about Silva’s other smiles. The kind of smiles that he thinks, he hopes, are the kind of smiles that no one knows, except for him

He wonders, whether Sergio, or other people, have ever seen that other kind of smiles that Silva has.

 

**_[4]_ **

“Did you see my Twitter today?”

Next to him, sitting on the couch, Silva shakes his head without taking his eyes from his IPad.

“Why should I?”

Good question. Because in fact, Silva is not a big fan of social media. He rarely logs in to his own Twitter account, let alone posting something.

“Because it’s my Twitter account. Don’t you want to know what is happening with me?” Villa says, fully aware at how ridiculous it sounds.

“Villa, while you’re in Manchester you live here in my flat. I know what happen with you more than what the world knows.”

“Why do you have to be so hateful to the technology?”

Silva rolls his eyes, and lets out a sigh as he throws his head to the back a little.

“Okay. Only because you want me to do so,” he says, frowning as if Villa just asked him to brush the bathroom floor with a toothbrush.

Villa watches as Silva with no expression sliding his fingers on the screen of his IPad. If there is any change of expression on Silva’s face, Villa can’t see any traces of it. Less than a minute later, Silva turns his head to Villa, his hand flies to brush off his hair from his eyes.

“Done,” he says, looking bored, and turns his head again to his IPad, starting to open another site.

“And?”

“What and?”

Villa bits his lower lips, feeling like a stupid teenage boy hopelessly trying to impress someone.

“Did you see the picture that I posted?”

“Which one?”

“The one of me and Agüero …”

“Oh. That one. Yeah. Nice pictures.” Silva says, still sounds bored.

Villa wants to say something, anything, but he’s not really sure what to say.

But then Silva puts his IPad on the coffee table, stretches and stands up.

“Are you going somewhere?”

Silva nods. “Joe is having a party tonight.”

An image of a tall blonde guy carrying Silva around a couple of years ago flashes in Villa’s mind. A strange feeling creeps in his vein.

Villa snorts. “Oh, that goalkeeper with those stupid big hands?”

Silva lets out an amused laugh. But then he looks at Villa straight in the eyes. “Oh, let me tell you one thing. His hands are not the only big thing that Joe has.”

It’s like someone just punched the air out of his lung. A tight feeling clenched in Villa’s chest as he silently watches Silva grabs his car keys from the cabinet.

He sits still ionthe couch, as Silva puts on his jacket. Silva opens the door, and then turns his neck.

“Don’t wait for me. I’ll be late,” he says to Villa over his shoulder.” And if I remember, I’ll send you some pictures, okay?”

He even winked at Villa. But Villa was too stunned to do anything. He can’t even think. The door closed with a soft sound.

 

**_[5]_ **

Villa watches the TV without really looking at it. He turned off all the lights, and the volume of the TV. It’s been past midnight, and Silva’s not back yet.

Almost two hours ago, Villa texted him.

_Having fun in the party?_

How he really wished that text messaging can also come up with how it sounds when the text is spoken directly face-to-face. The text will sound as sarcastic as possible.

Silva’s reply came 7 minutes later (not that Villa was really waiting for it).

_Yes. Lots of fun here._

Silva kept his promise. He sent a picture of him, with Joe right next to him, his arm heavy on his shoulder.

Villa hates the picture. Silva’s smile is too wide. Joe looks too happy. They stand awfully too close to each other.

The sound of key being inserted and turned in the lock makes Villa turned his head to the door.

He jumps from the couch, runs to the door and pulls it open. Silva almost stumbles into him.

“Villa!” he says, grinning stupidly at Villa. “I told you not to wait, no?”

Villa pulls his collar and slams the door closed. He pushes Silva against the wall, his hand pressed hard on the wall, caging Silva’s head between them.

Villa’s breaths are shorts and uneven as he leans his face closer towards Silva’s. Silva’s lips are red, wet, inviting. And the smell of alcohol from his breathe tickles Villa’s nose.

“You think it’s a game, don’t you,” his voice is rough and raspy “You think it’s a game that you’re playing here, don’t you?”

Silva smirks. Even in the very dim light, the charcoal in his eyes is burning.

“A game, Villa? Maybe. But who started it first?” he says, almost sounds like he’s amused. “Who started this game and thought can win it?”

Villa crushed his lips against Silva’s, knowing that he can always start a game, but he can never win it anyway.

“I love it when I’m winning a game,” Silva says with his lips against his.

Perhaps this, is the only game when Villa doesn’t really mind that he’s the one losing it.


End file.
